


Warmth // Whispers

by Bebboberry



Series: How Love Looks [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Male My Unit | Byleth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebboberry/pseuds/Bebboberry
Summary: Claude loves Byleth with touch. Byleth loves Claude with secrets.
Series: How Love Looks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577410
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Warmth // Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evolution of Byleth's tolerance for Claude's habit of communicating through casual physical contact.

Byleth is certain he has never met a man quite so forward as Claude von Riegan. It's no more than a week after they've met each other that Claude first throws a friendly arm around Byleth's shoulders as though they've been comrades in arms for years – and it's all Byleth can do not to knock him to the ground on instinct.

To his credit, as brazen as he is, Claude is equally perceptive, and the arm is gone as quickly as it arrived.

“Geez, Teach,” he says in that breezy tone of his, “Did they not teach you about friendly gestures in mercenary school?”

Byleth bites his tongue against the answer he _wants_ to give, which is that 'mercenary school' had looked an awful lot like learning the hard way that any hand you can't see should be treated like it's got a knife in it. But of course it's not as easy as not responding. Claude is still giving him a searching look, like he's expecting a response.

“Must have missed that lecture,” he says, and he can hear the lingering unease in his own voice.

“My, my,” Claude teases, “What would dear old Seteth think if he found out our new professor slacked off in school? What kind of example is that for us young impressionable students, I wonder?”

Byleth finds himself thrown into frantic loop of assessment. He doesn't know enough yet about Claude to be able to tell whether he genuinely didn't notice the discomfort or whether he's trying to subtly refocus the conversation to avoid mentioning it. It must show on his face because there's a flash of – endeared confusion? No that can't be right. Amusement, perhaps – in Claude's expression, and then suddenly he's making contact again, gently nudging against Byleth's rigid posture with his uncloaked shoulder.

“Relax, Teach,” he says, and Byleth thinks there might be an attempt at a soothing tone, “I won't tell anyone you were anything less than a model student.”

Byleth has to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“That's not-” he sighs. He shouldn't be getting this irritated. What is _wrong_ with him today? “Just...warn me next time, if you could.”

Claude blinks, apparently taken aback.

“Oh. Sure thing,” he says, “I...sorry, I didn't think-”

“It's fine,” Byleth says, stiffly, “Now you know.”

They don't talk as much for a while after that.

-

After the first encounter, Claude does improve. Within a month, Byleth has become well-accustomed to the friendly “Incoming,” he's taken to providing as warning of imminent physical contact. Most of the time he has ample opportunity to adjust for impact. _Most_ of the time.

This is not one such time.

Byleth finds himself hovering awkwardly over Claude's prone form, trying to determine if he's done any significant damage.

“ _Shit._ I'm sorry,” he says without thinking, “I didn't-”

Claude puts up a hand, waving off Byleth's panicked apology and propping himself up. He seems dazed, but otherwise unharmed, which undoes some of the horrible tightness in Byleth's chest.

“I...think that one's on me, Teach,” Claude says as he recovers his wits, “I must have startled you. Wouldn't expect you to be the swearing in front of students type under other circumstances.”

Byleth shuts his mouth so quickly that the sound of his teeth clicking together is surely audible from the other end of the yard and Claude only manages another brief second of false calm before bursting into peals of laughter.

“I... _listen,_ ” Byleth starts in on a weak attempt to defend himself, but he doesn't get much further than that.

“Don't worry,” Claude says, “Your secret's safe with me. Believe it or not, even counting the fact that you just laid me out, I'd still rather have you as a professor than any of the other folks people thought it'd be.” He pauses, taking in Byleth's perturbed expression. “Tell you what. You give me a hand up and we'll call it even.”

“That's hardly...”

“You gonna help me out here or what?”

Byleth shakes his head and a bemused smile starts to creep across his features as he extends his hand to his fallen student. Claude hauls himself to his feet with Byleth as a counterbalance and proceeds to dust himself off.

“I...we should take you to the infirmary,” Byleth says, “Have them look you over. Just in case. I know enough about first aid to help when the injuries are obvious, but...”

“And what'll we tell them, exactly?”

Byleth pauses at that. He hadn't considered that he'd need to provide a cause of injury.

“Aren't cover stories kind of your forte, Claude,” he says, by way of deflection. Claude can't seem to help but grin.

“Got me there, Teach. I guess we could always say I fell off a horse.”

Byleth nods, finding that to be satisfactory, and starts walking, but Claude stops him with a hand on his elbow.

“Listen, Teach, can I level with you for a second? While I'm still at liberty to be untoward?”

Byleth narrows his eyes, but nods. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing much. Just wanted to say you really pack a fuckin' punch when you want to.”

That comment buys Claude nearly thirty seconds head start on the walk to the infirmary.

-

Byleth half expects to find the monastery empty when he arrives. If the villager he met is to be believed, he's been asleep for five years. Five years since the battle at Garreg Mach. Five years since he last saw anyone he'd grown to care about during his year as a professor there – or rather, since any of them had seen him.

The place is in ruins, though he supposes that makes sense, being that it was apparently abandoned after the Empire overran it all that time ago. He runs his hands across the crumbling stone, curling his fingers around roots and brushing against moss and ivy leaves. He's astonished, despite himself, at how quickly the earth has moved to reclaim this place as it's sat untended.

Lost in thought, he almost doesn't notice the golden figure standing in the window, but when they turn, the sound of their armor shifting against itself catches his attention and suddenly he's staring into a face five years grown from the last time he saw it, and it hits him for the first time how long five years really is.

“You overslept, Teach,” Claude says, but there's something different about his tone than his usual teasing, “Pretty rude to keep a fella waiting like that, wouldn't you say?”

The words wash over Byleth like clean spring rain, and he takes another step forward out of the shadows of the ruined arches he's been wandering under. His shock must show on his face because Claude snickers quietly, and this sound too is like coming out of a dream.

“What's with that surprised look, my friend? You didn't think I'd given up on you coming back, did you?”

Byleth huffs a bemused sigh through his nose and shakes his head.

“Look at you,” he says, attempting to deflect, “All grown up. Seems you never grew out of that debonair attitude though.”

Claude takes the deflection in stride and turns back to the window.

“'Course not,” he says, “Who do you think you're talking to, exactly?”

Byleth emerges fully from the hall to stand beside his...student? No, that doesn't seem right anymore. It's been years since Claude was his student, and even if he did spend most of that time asleep, there's still some sense of its passing that's beginning to settle in on him. To stand beside his friend, then. He feels he can be confident in calling Claude his friend at least.

“If I couldn't see that dashing beard with my own eyes, I'd say I was still talking to that nosy, scheming teenager I met five years ago.”

This time, Claude's laughter comes out as an unrefined bark.

“You wound me, Teach,” he says, “I like to think I've improved at least a little since then.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Byleth says, and there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I guess I'll just have to find an opportunity to show you what I've got, then, won't I?”

“Seems so.”

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the light change outside the tall window. Byleth doesn't tense when he feels the weight of Claude's arm across his shoulders, pulling him in against his gold-clad side.

“Can you feel it,” Claude says, “A new dawn is finally here.”

Byleth turns to look at him, inadvertently leaning the side of his face into the cloth of Claude's new doublet.

“For the Alliance?”

“Not just for us, no. For all of Fodlan.”

Byleth turns back to look out the window again, but stays close against Claude's side. There's something grounding about the contact after spending so long floating unconscious through time and the dark. He knows they'll have to start moving again, sooner rather than later, but for now he chooses to stay at least a moment longer.


End file.
